Chapter 6 - First Aid and Defiance
The paramedics were gentle, speaking to Sophie in soothing tones as they gently peeled back the blood-soaked ribbons and examined the laceration on the side of her head.
"Mommy, it hurts," Sophie whimpered, tears streaming down her pale cheeks.
"I know, baby. I know, look at me," I whispered, holding her little hand tight while a paramedic pressed a sterile gauze pad firmly against the wound to stem the bleeding. "You're safe now. Daddy's in heaven watching over us, and nobody is going to hurt you again. I promise."
Detective Miller walked up, standing over us as the EMTs worked. He looked down at Sophie, then looked up at me, his eyes dark with suppressed anger.
"Who did this?" the detective asked quietly, though the answer was already burning in the air around us.
Before I could speak, Preston pushed his way through the circle of onlookers, his face flushed with righteous indignation. He pointed an accusing finger directly at me.
"She did! Or rather, she let her feral kid run wild until she fell!" Preston lied smoothly, backed by thirty years of unconditional family protection. "The little thief tried to pickpocket my phone during the toast, and in the scuffle, she tripped backward into the menu stand! It was an accident!"
The audacity of his lie was staggering. More than two hundred people had watched him pick up the board and smash it down like an executioner's axe, yet here he stood, spinning a fairy tale for the police.
I looked up at Detective Miller. My voice, when I spoke, was completely steady, stripped of all fear.
"He's lying," I said clearly. "My daughter did not steal anything. My brother planted his phone in her pocket, staged a public spectacle, and when I stood in his way, he deliberately struck an eight-year-old child in the head with a solid oak menu board with the intent to seriously injure her."
Preston scoffed loudly, letting out an artificial laugh. "Are you insane, Evelyn? Listen to yourself! The woman is completely delusional, Officer! Take her and her brat out of here before they ruin my wife's wedding photos!"
Vanessa, the bride, finally spoke up, clutching her designer veil with shaking, manicured fingers. "He's right! This is an outrage! Arrest her for disturbing the peace!"
Detective Miller looked back and forth between us. He was a professional; he knew how elite families operated in this city. Wealthy dynasties buried scandals beneath fat checks and legal threats every single day. He couldn't rely solely on verbal testimony when two powerful families were closing ranks to protect their golden heir.
"Ma'am, do you have any physical proof supporting your claim?" Detective Miller asked me gently. "Witnesses? Security logs?"
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My heart gave a heavy thump against my ribs. I looked up at the ceiling, right toward the tiny blinking red light of the high-definition security camera mounted above the grand entrance.
"I don't need witnesses, Detective," I replied, standing up slowly while keeping a protective hand on Sophie's shoulder as the paramedics secured the bandage. "Because the Whitmore Hotel records everything."
